


Wasting Youth

by zoeymew1098



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-04-30 07:46:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14492202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoeymew1098/pseuds/zoeymew1098
Summary: Loo just wants to graduate from night school and land her dream job -- finally within reach after she lands the perfect internship -- but the universe seems to have other plans for her.When she accidentally catches Tony Stark's attention during a meeting she has no business being a part of, Loo finds herself entangled in his world and with the people who are part of it, including a boy she can't get off her mind.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't quite set in the right timeline, I've aged up Parker a bit to fit my idea and where I want to go with this, so don't expect anything canon! LOL

She wasn’t getting paid enough for this shit.

Loo Smith jerked to a halt so the asshole riding his bike on the sidewalk wouldn’t crash into her. She hadn’t had time this morning to run a comb through her knotted hair; she  _ definitely _ didn’t have time to make a trip to the ER.

Though, Loo supposed as she crossed the street, the looming Avengers Tower growing closer yet, if she got trapped in a hospital bed, she would finally be able to make a dent in the slush pile because she’d have no other option  _ but _ to read.

The bottom of Loo’s feet were already beginning to ache. Her black boots were meant to look cute in an office, where the walking was minimal—from your desk to the printer, and back again—not to traverse halfway across Manhattan, subjected to strangers’ toes and questionable puddles.

But of course they would send her to track down the missing pages, cute shoes be damned. It didn’t matter that she had packages to mail or cold reads to get through. If there was something that a senior editor didn’t want to do, it ended up on Loo’s desk. Though Loo didn’t have much of a desk left, if she was being honest, since it was mostly covered in unsolicited submissions that still needed to be rejected and miscellaneous galleys she would never get around to reading.

The not-so-gentle throbbing at her temples didn’t help the situation much, either. She’d known that going over to Millie’s on a weeknight was a bad idea (one  _ glass  _ of wine turned into one  _ bottle _ turned into them at a bar Loo had never heard of and definitely wasn’t cool enough to be at), but she had gone anyway.

She’d woken up that morning, half-falling off of the dilapidated couch Millie had claimed from some back alley when she first moved to the city, not sure where she was or what had happened the night before. She’d barely taken two steps into the office with nothing but coffee and a tall, cool glass of water on her mind before Mercer had sent her right back out the front door.

She could only hope that this pickup would be a quick in-and-out that wouldn’t take up too much time in a too-short day. If she didn’t get the  _ Unmasked _ report in by five, she could kiss a good future recommendation goodbye. She didn’t even know what she was walking into, really, only that the author had been a little unresponsive and Mercer  _ really needed that first draft _ and  _ had she started reading  _ Unmasked _ yet _ ? When you were Mercer’s intern for the week, it was All or Nothing. This week was definitely an All.

Loo wondered who the elusive author could be, probably one of the scientists publishing some nonfiction title, but she secretly hoped that it would be the god with the crazy hair and ridiculous muscles, just because she wouldn’t mind seeing him up close and personal.

She pulled her phone out of the back pocket of her slacks to check for what was probably the hundredth time—but she had to be  _ sure _ —that she was, in fact, headed to the Tower, and not some dinky office just beside it. Of course, her phone screen lagged behind her commands. She always said she’d get a new one soon, but then her bank account always said otherwise.

She had just about successfully pulled up the email from Mercer when she noticed from her periphery that a man was heading straight her way, with no intention of stopping. 

“Watch it!” she said, trying to veer out of the way, but there was no stopping the collision. Hot coffee spilled down the front of her shirt and jacket and she yelped at the sudden, searing pain that spread across her skin. 

“You have  _ got _ to be kidding me,” the other half of the collision muttered as he knelt forward to see what could be salvaged. 

Loo pulled the wet material off her skin with pinched fingers. The sharp pain faded to a steady sting and she prayed she wouldn’t get any serious burns. She wouldn’t be going shirtless any time soon, at the very least.

‘ _ Good thing there’s no one who’d want to see that right now, anyway _ ,’ she thought to herself, wryly.

“Are you okay?” the guy asked, finally turning his attention to Loo and rising back to his feet.

With his wide brown eyes and messy-on-purpose hair, she would have found him cute, if he hadn’t just spilled four scalding cups of coffee on her. His hands hovered in the air between them, like he wanted to help but didn’t want to touch her unless she gave him permission. 

Loo sighed and glanced down at her ruined outfit, mortified even further when she realized that her hastily-chosen polka dot bra was out for the world to see through the now-translucent material. Okay was  _ not _ the word she’d have chosen at that moment.

“I guess . . .” She thought of the t-shirt she’d worn to work the day before still stuffed in her bag. She was lucky that she’d passed out at Millie’s and had to borrow a shirt from her closet that morning, instead of coming straight from home. “But you should be more careful, next time.”

“ _ I _ should be more careful?” he repeated, his voice a little higher than before. “ _ You _ shouldn’t be on your phone on the sidewalk. You don’t text and drive too, do you?”

“What? I—” Loo exhaled sharply. She wasn’t going to get into it with this guy. She didn’t owe him any kind of explanation or apology, even though he clearly thought she did. “I have to go. I’m already late for my meeting.”

“Well, I’m going to be late now, too.”

“Not my fault, butter-fingers,” Loo muttered to herself as she scanned the street for someplace nearby where she’d be able to change.

“I mean, it kind of is.”

It took Loo a moment to realize that he was responding to her. How had he even _ heard _ that? He quirked a brow and gestured toward the small coffee shop a little further up the block.

“I’m going to have to pay out of pocket now, and my boss likes all things overpriced and overrated.”

“Alright, alright, Errand Boy.” Loo laughed a little incredulously as she fished through her purse for her wallet. She shoved a twenty into his slack grasp and mourned the Friday night takeout she’d just sacrificed. “That should cover most of it, right?”

Without waiting for a reply, she took off across the street, weaving through the standstill traffic toward the bodega opposite where they’d stood.

This early in the morning, the bodega was empty apart from Loo and a man standing behind the counter reading a newspaper. He continued to scan the pages without looking Loo’s way as a cheerful digital chime announced her entrance. 

It wasn’t until she was standing before him that he finally acknowledged her. “Can I help you?”

Helping sounded like the last thing he wanted to do, but Loo smiled her brightest smile regardless, hoping that whoever had told her she had a nice one hadn’t been lying.

“Do you have a restroom?”

“We do.” The man blinked.

Loo hesitated, uncertain if he was going to say more, or? But silence stretched between them and she cleared her throat, ready to try again.

“Could I  _ use  _ it . . . ?”

“It’s out of service.”

“Out of service?” Loo repeated, heart sinking. “Oh. I don’t need to  _ use _ it, just change.”

She gestured toward the stain taking up a large portion of her blouse and—to the man’s credit—he didn’t even blink at the polka dots.

“You really don’t want to go in there,” he said. “It’s like a bomb went off or something.”

Loo wrinkled her nose and considered braving it, regardless, but there was something about the haunted look in the man’s eye that made her change her mind. She waved goodbye and re-emerged onto the street in search of a new target.

With the restaurants still closed and the bodega out of the question, it was either potentially facing the rude guy again at the coffee shop or facing god knows who else at the Tower dressed like a messy toddler after snack time.

So Loo trudged up the street toward the shop and squared her shoulders before entering. She approached the counter wearing the same smile that she’d tried to use at the bodega, but she felt it would be just as effective as it had been last time.

“Hi,” Loo said, glancing around the small shop and pretending she didn’t notice the guy standing in the corner. It was one of those coffee places that didn’t even have seating, perfect for those young professionals who always seemed like they had Places To Be, but fancy enough with its faux marble countertops to make Loo feel a little unwelcome.

The teenage girl standing behind the till looked at her expectantly, which made Loo grit her teeth.

“Could I possibly use your restroom to change? I had a bit of an accident this morning.”

“Sorry, you have to make a purchase if you want access to the bathroom.”

Loo stared at the teenager, who stared unapologetically back at Loo. Barely managing to restrain herself from sucking her teeth, Loo turned her glare to the chalkboard menu above the cashier’s head.

“Alright,  _ fine _ , I’ll have a . . .” But it wasn’t fine because half the words on that board looked like gibberish and  _ did they really expect her to pay  _ seven dollars _ just so she wouldn’t be forced to show up at the Avengers Tower with her bra on full display _ ?

“. . . a café mocha, I guess.” She fished her debit card out from the slot on her phone case and tapped it against the machine that sat on the counter between them. “ _ Now _ can I use the bathroom?”

The cashier fished the key out of the pocket of her apron and passed it over to Loo, who smiled in false gratitude. As she crossed the small shop toward the bathroom door, she studiously ignored the Errand Boy waiting for his repeat order.

The bathroom was barely big enough for Loo and her purse to squeeze into. If she raised her hands in either direction, she’d touch opposite ends of what was really more of a  _ closet _ than a room. But it was private, and now she could get out of the coffee-drenched atrocity that her favourite blouse had turned into.

Loo dropped her bag on the back of the toilet and slid out of her jacket. The shirt she’d worn the day before would be more than a little wrinkled, but it was still the better of two bad options. Loo unbuttoned her blouse quickly, grimacing as she tried to wipe away the now-sticky residue from her skin with damp tissue paper before putting on the creased tee.

By the time she shoved her blouse into her purse and returned to the front of the store,  Errand Boy had disappeared and her small cafe mocha was sitting on the counter. She retrieved it reluctantly and tossed the key back to the girl with one more false smile.

“Thanks for all your help,” Loo said, fluttering her fingers over her shoulder before heading back out into the street. Hopefully, the  _ rest _ of her day went without a hitch, or else she was going to have to quit her job and move to Siberia.

There was only so much human interaction a person could take this early in the day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loo gets what she came for, but she also sets a whole slew of things into motion.

Loo felt intimidated.

 

It wasn’t that the Avengers Tower was much different from the offices she’d been going to every day for the past two months. Both were “artistically minimalistic” in design and filled with people who looked like they thought the world might end if they didn’t get where they needed to be at that exact moment.

 

She was intimidated because the world might  _ actually end _ , given where she was and who the people that inhabited this building were.

 

The idea that there were literal superheroes in the nearby vicinity didn’t make her feel any less out of place. Nor did the undisguised looks of mistrust the receptionist kept sending her way as she waited for whoever was on the other end of the phone line to pick up.

 

What would she do if she wasn’t allowed further into the building? Returning to Mercer empty-handed wasn’t an option, and given the ridiculous amount of security she had to pass through to get into the  _ lobby,  _ Loo suspected sneaking upstairs wasn’t going to be an option, either.

 

Loo was considering making a run for the elevators behind the plush sofa she was perched on when the woman sitting in front of her perked up.

 

“Yes,” the blonde said into the receiver, “I have a . . . Louisa Freemason here? She says she’s been sent by Marissa Mercer to pick up a manuscript.”

 

Loo prayed that the vague description she’d been forced to give (“An author — I don’t have a name. I was just told they were here and owed Marissa Mercer pages — you know who Marissa is? — Oh, you wrote a novel. Well I don’t really — Yes, it’s time sensitive, thank you so much.”) had led the woman to the right person because she suspected that the receptionist wasn’t going to go out of her way to find them.

 

“Alright, I understand.” 

 

Loo watched the receptionist put down the phone and type something on her keyboard. She waited a few seconds longer for some sort of update before her impatience got the better of her and she forced herself out of her seat. 

 

“Well?” she prompted, pressing her palms flat against the desk. The receptionist gave her a flat look as she reached into one of her drawers and passed Loo a laminated card.

 

“Tell F.R.I.D.A.Y to take you to the thirty-first floor. Constantine should be expecting you.” She returned her attention to her computer screen and Loo took that as an indication that this interaction was over even though she still had questions, like who the hell was Friday and why did their parents hate them enough to name them after a day of the week?

 

Loo clipped the card to the front pocket of her jacket and glanced around the lobby in search of the elusive “Friday” but the room was empty of anyone besides the receptionist. She took a few hesitant steps toward the elevators expecting the blonde lady to stop her and ask where she was going, but the woman didn’t so much as bat an eye Loo’s way.

 

Maybe she didn’t even  _ need _ Friday. She knew how to work an elevator on her own, didn’t she? But Loo quickly realized the reason someone was supposed to help her when she couldn’t find an elevator button. No fancy keypad like the one in her publisher’s building, no simple arrows like the ones in her parents’ condominium, just smooth wall beside the silver doors.

 

Was Friday an elevator operator? That seemed kind of antiquated given Tony Stark’s penchant for shiny, new tech like his suits. Loo turned toward the receptionist reluctantly. This morning just kept getting better and better —

 

“Excuse me, Miss.”

 

Loo jumped, embarrassed to have also let out a little sound of surprise at the unexpected intrusion. 

 

“But may I be of assistance to you?”

 

She turned back around, thankful to have finally found someone who could help her. Only — there was no one there. But someone had definitely spoken. A woman with some indiscernible accent. Had it been the receptionist — ?

 

“Miss?” The disembodied voice jarred Loo again. 

 

Hesitantly, she replied, “Hello?”

 

“Good morning.” 

 

Loo noticed now that the voice was coming from  _ above _ her. Some kind of security system, maybe.

 

“Are you a real person?” Loo asked.

 

“I am F.R.I.D.A.Y,” came the response in that same, cordial tone. “A user interface computer system created by Mr. Stark.”

 

“ _ You’re _ Friday,” Loo repeated.

 

“I have already confirmed this.” Could a computer give sass? “How may I help you this morning?”

 

“Uh, I’m supposed to be going to the thirty-first floor to meet with Constantine?” she said, fiddling with her visitor’s pass. Could F.R.I.D.A.Y see her? The idea that she was currently talking to a  _ computer  _ felt a little more than bizarre.

 

“Please step into the elevator.”

 

The metal doors slid open abruptly, making Loo jump a second time. She glanced around one more time to make sure that no one was playing a prank on her before following F.R.I.D.A.Y’s orders to enter the elevator. Her unease grew as the doors shut behind her and the heavy feeling at the bottom of her stomach told her that they’d begun their ascent.

 

Loo tugged at the bottom of her shirt in the hopes that stretching it out would alleviate some of its wrinkles, but there was nothing to be done. Maybe when she got back to the office someone would have a cardigan she could borrow.

 

As the elevator slowed to a stop, Loo took a shaky breath. Constantine didn’t sound like the name of a superhero, at least — except, what if it had been a codename? People who saved the world for a living would be the sort of people who also used codenames, wouldn’t they?

 

She didn’t get a chance to fall into that thought spiral because the doors opened, revealing a middle-aged woman wearing a pair of dark-wash jeans and a comfy-looking, stain-free sweater.

 

“Loo?” the woman said, stepping aside once Loo nodded in confirmation. “I’m Connie. Sorry Mercer sent you all the way over here. I really should have gotten the manuscript to her ages ago, but you know how wily these creative endeavors can be to fanangle sometimes.”

 

Loo laughed along with the woman even though she had absolutely no clue about creative wiliness whatsoever. The floor they were on seemed more residential than office-like, with a large open-plan entertainment room and kitchenette directly opposite the elevators. 

 

The woman must have noticed Loo’s curious stares because she gestured toward the seating area and said, “Stark thought it made sense for me to be within close proximity so we could really hunker down and get this draft done, not that I’ve seen the man more than twice since I got here five months ago.”

 

“Tony Stark?” Loo’s wide eyes turned to the unassuming woman beside her.

 

“The one and only.” She laughed when she saw Loo’s wonder. “He’s less impressive in person, I promise. Anyway, that’s why I haven’t sent the pages across. I couldn’t get more than ten words out of him when we were in a room together, so I haven’t really had much to write.”

 

Loo took in the gleaming marble tabletops and shiny chrome furniture, barely able to keep herself from pocketing one of the numerous knick knacks littering the room. That crystal vase that sat on the side table beside the plush, grey loveseat probably cost more than a month’s rent for her closet-sized studio apartment. Maybe ghostwriting wasn’t such a bad gig, if you got put up in a place like this.

 

“Just a second,” Connie said after leading her into what must be the study. A monstrous glass desk stood at the centre of the room, facing away from the floor-to-ceiling windows. Loo stayed away from them, even though the view was probably incredible. Heights always made her a little bit queasy. 

 

Books were perched on every available flat surface apart from the floor. A quick glance at their spines told Loo that they were all unofficial biographies about the Stark family. They always made a resurgence every few years after Tony Stark — or Iron Man — did something of note but refused to speak to the press about it. 

 

Loo couldn’t resist picking up  _ Modern Men: How Stark Industries Revolutionized the Weapons Industry _ as Connie fiddled with her laptop until the printer beside it started spewing pages from its mouth. A younger Tony Stark, smiling and smug, looked up at Loo from the back jacket flap. This man gave up weapons manufacturing only a few months after this book had been released. She’d still been in high school, then.

 

Even though the Starks had never blocked a biography from coming out — not even the truly ridiculous one that claimed Tony Stark was now immortal because of his arc reactor — they had also never endorsed any. How had Mercer managed to convince Tony that  _ now _ was the time to break that trend?

 

“Here we are.” Connie straightened the pages with a sharp tap against the desk and binded them with a loose elastic band. She spotted the book Loo was holding and brightened. “You can take that, if you want. I’ve read it to the bone.”

 

Never one to say no to free books, Loo smiled gratefully and tucked the hardcover under her arm.

 

“Is this the entirety of it?” she asked, thumbing the pages of the manuscript. Seventy-four. Not even the length of a short-story collection. Connie’s smile dimmed.

 

“Yes, well like I said, Tony’s been a little . . . difficult.” She grimaced. “Tell Marissa I truly do understand how inconvenient this is, and that I’ll have the rest over to her as soon as I can.”

 

For some reason, Loo believed her a little less this time.

 

“Well, I’d better be on my way,” Loo said, gesturing over her shoulder toward the door. “You know how Mercer is — ”

 

“‘ _ My time goes at a rate you can’t afford _ ’,” Connie finished, which made Loo smile again.

 

“Exactly,” she said. “So, thanks for the book. Maybe I’ll see you around the office sometime.”

 

Connie saw Loo to the elevator and this time Loo didn’t jump when F.R.I.D.A.Y asked if she would like to return to the ground floor. As she began her descent back to reality, Loo supposed it would be best to call ahead and warn Mercer of the missing pages.

 

The distance might provide a safe buffer from the older woman’s initial wrath.

 

Loo fished her phone out from the back pocket of her slacks and speed-dialed the first number on her list. Hopefully Mercer wasn’t in one of her endless slew of design meetings and agent lunches that Loo spent more time arranging than the actual editorial assistant did.

 

“Are you on your way back yet?” Mercer asked before Loo could even say hello. Loo exhaled slowly, urging herself to be more patient with the older woman’s  _ im _ patience. This was a good opportunity, to work so closely with such a renowned name, even if she felt, sometimes, that Mercer was taking advantage of her.

 

“I just got the pages,” Loo said, holding her phone between her ear and shoulder as she rummaged around her bag to make room for them. “Constantine wanted me to pass along that she’ll get the rest of them to you as soon as — ”

 

“The rest of them?” Mercer interrupted.

 

“Well . . . ” Loo paused. “There’s only seventy-four pages currently.”

 

Her eyes widened in surprise at the expletives that left Mercer’s mouth. She’d seen Mercer angry before, but she could practically  _ feel _ this new level of anger radiating through the phone.

 

“Don’t go anywhere,” Mercer said after releasing a long, deep breath.

 

“What?” 

 

The elevator smoothly slid to a halt and Loo hesitated before stepping out into the still-empty lobby.

 

“Stay — I’m on my way, just don’t  _ go _ anywhere.” Mercer hung up and Loo stared at her phone, trying to figure out what had just happened.

 

The receptionist glanced up from her computer. “Everything go well?”

 

Loo’s brows furrowed. “I don’t think so.”

 

She took a seat once again in front of the receptionist’s desk, waiting for the inevitable storm that was about to hit. 

 

She had a feeling things were only about to get worse.


End file.
